


Almost Theraputic

by FindingZ



Series: Touch Me/Heal Me [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bad BDSM Etiquette, Gentle Sex, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kissing, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Netflix & Cuddling, in previous relationships, more like working through Eridan's issues so they can get to the dom/sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-08 00:46:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4284237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FindingZ/pseuds/FindingZ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'Kay. This is what's gonna happen. I'm going to continue like we're the most vanilla-est couple this side of the Mason-Dixon line. Right now, I'm 'Sir knows-nothing-about-your-preferences.' You are going to fix that, because you're going to stop me and walk me through precisely what you need, when you need it, and I'm going to give it to you. Want me to tie you up? I'm there. Want me to chew on your neck like Godzilla attacking Tokyo? You got it. Fun times will be had by all. That sound okay?"</p><p>[in which Eridan learns that, for some people, giving is just as good as receiving]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost Theraputic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nanibgal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanibgal/gifts).



> So this prompt maaaay have gotten away from me. Jus' a little. Alas, no bonus points for me (maybe in a part 2? I'm thinking about a oneshot for a part 2...)

"S'just not fair, y'know? All these people, all like...thinkin' they _know_ what you want, you know? They think they _know_. But they don't."

Dave looks like he's trying not to laugh. "Guess that can be kind of a bitch, huh?"

"You don't even know," you whine, and tilt your chair onto its back legs. "People are such assholes."

"You got that right." He takes another swig of beer. You follow suit. You don't like beer, you decide. It feels more like you're tasting it more with your nose than your tongue, and you haven't been able to see straight in about an hour. You've had four in about as much time. "If you tip over I'm going to laugh my butt off, just saying."

"Your butt can stay attached," you inform him. "S'not gonna happen. I'm not that drunk."

"See," he says, and gestures at you with the base of a bottle, "that's exactly where you'd fall flat on your back if this was a movie."

"Well it's not, isn't it?" You slam your drink down as dramatically as you can. "Obviously, 'cause life sucks."

Dave swats your hand away from a new bottle. "Enough of that. I don't want you puking all over my carpeting, I just had it cleaned."

"Fuck your carpeting."

"How about no."

"Look, I'm sorry you feel your life sucks but beer doesn't gush from trees and I'm not made of money and you're too drunk to fully appreciate the taste of it right now. You don't get another one."

"I don't even _like_ human intoxicants." You say to the table. It and your forehead are having a grand old time together. "They're too...human."

"Welp, nothing I can do about that, my friend." He pats your head condescendingly. "Guess I should have known you'd be a lightweight."

"I am _not_. Jus' not used to alien booze, is all."

"Sure thing chicken wing, whatever you say." He stands up and comes over to your side of the kitchen table. "Let's get you lying down before you fall over and bash your brains all over the floor, yeah?" He catches the back of your chair and tips you back onto all four legs.

"People are so _mean_."

"They are. Sucks balls."

"They're _mean_ and they jus' fuckin'...fuck."

"Sure do. C'mon now."

He doesn't look like he's having as much trouble walking as you. It's the weirdest feeling, standing up - almost like you're moving with hands over your horns and plugs in your ears. You sway. He catches you. Loops one of your arms over his shoulders and tows you towards the couch.

"They just fuck. That's all they do. I'm serious." You say as seriously as you can. Trying to school your face into a neutral expression doesn't work. Your fins end up drooping down like one of those infant barkbeasts (which you guess isn't a bad thing, because they're supposed to be adorable, right? So that's fine, then) and you can't keep the frown off your face.

"I'm sure you are, dude. Couch or with me?"

"Uh?"

Dave spends the energy to unwind himself from you, gesture to the upholstery before you, and then do the same at the door down the hall. "Couch, or with me. For sleeping."

Uh. Your pan fucks off to parts unknown for a moment. Returns, and all you think to say is, "sleepin' with you is at least sixth date material."

"Lucky you we've been on seven, then."

Whoops. "Is that how many it's been? Musta lost count already."

Dave's face is precisely as unreadable right now as it is with his eye protection, so much so that it makes perfect sense to put your hand over his eyes just to make sure you haven't just stopped noticing the dark lenses. You miss, though, and poke him solidly in the eye.

"Ow! Stop that." He bats your hand away. "You're insufferable when you're drunk, you know that?"

"Am not."

"Nope, not starting another one of those. Pick your poison or forever hold your peace."

You don't like Dave's couch. It's swarming with dust mites that get in your gills and you're too long for it (humans are so fucking short, even _Karkat_ is taller than Dave), so you always end up with your neck at an awful angle and your feet hanging off the end.

"Your bed is comfy."

"Sounds good to me." He switches directions (which confuses you and you trip over your own feet. He hauls you back up) and heads down the hall. "Watch yourself."

"Your bed is really, really comfy."

"Fucking better be. Saved up for the mattress 'n everything. Hundred percent Tempur-Pedic magic, I'll have you know."

You have no idea what Tempur-Pedic is. You can't tell if Dave is as drunk as you are or just humoring you. He's probably humoring you. You're surprisingly okay with that. "I'm okay with that," you tell him.

He has to prop you up against the wall so he can open his bedroom door. "You are absolutely pickled, Eri."

"Yep." So you are.

He's laughing at you but not in a mean way. You feel very warm and tingly, watching him grin at you. He's got fantastic bone structure in his face - almost like a seadweller, almost like yours, high and angular with sharp cheekbones and a narrow jaw. If you ignored the color of his skin and the smooth, hornless expanse of his scalp, you might mistake him for a troll.

That isn't why you like him, though. You tell him that. He starts giggling uncontrollably and gathers you under his arm.

"You didn't mention you were one of those no-filter drunks. Guess I'm lucky you like me, huh? Protip: don't ever drink with people you don't like if you babble the first shit you think, okay?"

You get caught up trying to figure out the best way to say 'I do, I do like you, be my matesprite officially? No more trial "dating" period, consider the trials passed, fucking stamp of approval, be mine?' and trip over Dave's foot when he brings you into his bedroom (in your defense it _is_ dark - he's still fumbling for the light). You faceplant on his bed and just lay there, smelling the cool fabric. Smells sort of sweet, like flowers or something. What sort of soap does he use?

"Hey, the no puking rule also applies to my bed."

"'M not gonna throw up, gods. Jus' tired."

"I bet you are. I'll take the couch." He makes for the door. "Sweet dreams, Eri."

You manage to sit up. "Don't hafta leave if you don't want."

He pauses, hand on the doorknob. "How scandalous. Think of my reputation! I'd be ruined."

"C'monnnnnn." Oops, is your voice always that nasally? Shit, let's try that again. "C'mon. Your couch is shit. Come sleep with me."

He blinks a few times. All he says is, "I hog the covers."

"Get in here. 'N turn off the light, shit's brighter than the fucking sun."

"As you wish, your majesty." He flicks the light off. "Lemme take my socks off, hang on."

Which is dumb, humans have the most bizarre fashion trends (a fabric casing for your foot? Sounds itchy and hot and a pain in the butt), but you let him hop around and look silly before squidging over across the blankets to make room for him. He collapses with a sigh, hands clasped over his stomach in a very Dave-like manner. You immediately move over to press up against him to feel some of that bizarre heat coming off of him. You haven't been with anybody who radiates as much warmth as he does.

Which reminds you.

"People suck."

"I hate to be inconsiderate to your woes, but you said that already."

"Still true."

"Not disputin' that. Jus' statin' a fact." His speech goes funny when he's tired, consonants sliding out from underneath him and vowels elongating. You find it absolutely pitiable how he loses control of himself the moment his eyelids start drooping. "Thinkin' of anyone specific?"

One person in particular, but you aren't going to start blabbering about your one-and-only previous partner to your current partner. You don't know what he's talking about, no-filter drunk. Please. You are in perfect control of your brain-to-mouth facilities. "A sucky person is who."

"Got it."

"They just _suck!_ "

"Yep, kinda got that impression. If you want to talk about details, feel free. Consider my ear lent."

You curl a hand into his shirt, try to inhale the smell of his skin without being too obvious about it. Humans smell like plants to you, like green things and rain. "Nobody is nice about it anymore. They just, just - fuck."

"Nice about what?" Dave brings an arm over your head to wrap around your shoulders and pull you in. You are very grateful and show it by wrapping a leg around one of his.

"About pailing!"

"What do you mean?"

"Nobody pails nice anymore. It's all wall-slammin' shit. Like that movie, what was it..." You can't remember what it was. It had a lot of wall-slamming pailing scenes.

"Not into the rough stuff?" You know he's teasing you a little from the tone of his voice. He's not taking this seriously and that annoys you. This is a very important, serious subject. You weakly punch him in the ribs.

" _No,_ that's not what I, what I mean. I don' mind a few bruises, just, you know?"

"I'm not sure I do. Care to enlighten me?"

You've discovered that if you breathe out extra hard it puffs up the sleeve of his t-shirt and you can almost - almost - catch a glimpse of the fine hairs peeking out from his armpit. You forgot how fuzzy humans are. He has to nudge you a few times before you can bear to pull away and look back up at him.

"You _know_."

"I, in fact, do not. C'mon, tell me? You can't play the drunk who spills all their secrets and then just dangle 'em all over my head. You wanna talk, talk!"

"You callin' me a tease?" You can't resist pitching your voice low, watching his eyes dart to your mouth. You've kissed him before (not nearly enough), fooled around with him a bit, even, but you haven't pailed him yet - you have class, thank you very much, and you don't fuck on the first date, no matter how much you wanted to rip his shirt off in the restaurant that first time and see how his muscles hinged.

(you apparently don't fuck on the second-through-seventh date either, but you chalk that up to all the afternoon dates you went on. If he had taken you out to dinner for your second date instead of that matinee - less people to deal with, easier to find good seats - you totally would have fucked him)

"Oh you would have, hm?"

"Did I say that out loud?" You ask him. He bops you on the forehead with two fingers.

"You did, moron. I hope that wasn't the main point to your whole 'people suck' train of thought, 'cause I gotta admit if you think I suck because I want less screaming children included with my movie theater experience my feelings are going to be rather hurt."

"You're not drunk at all, are you?" You roll over onto your back. Dave's ceiling is fascinating - that crack totally looks like a bulge, you should mention it to him. "Drunk people don't monologue like that."

"I only had two beers, Christ. Hardly as many as you had."

"I had four."

"No, you drank a whole six pack. Remember?"

"Nope. Your ceiling looks like a bulge."

"Does it?" He tips his head back to consider it. "I dunno about that."

"It does!" You fling an arm up to point at it and accidentally whap him in the side of the head in your haste. "Oops. Uh. Yeah, there's the tip, there's the, the, the whatsit..."

"Still don't see it, dude. Go to sleep."

"No, no, and there's the base. See?"

"You are literally struggling to keep your eyes open. Sleep."

"It's obvious!"

"Sleep."

"No."

"Sleep."

"Only if you stay."

That gives him pause, but you think it's the good kind. He pulls you towards him until you're mushed up against him from gills to toes. "Okay."

"You can take all the blankets, too. I don't mind."

He grins into the top of your head. "Okay."

**

Hangovers aren't that bad. Really, you don't know what everyone makes a fuss about. You feel just fine, you think as you struggle to consciousness. Just fine, considering the amount of alcohol you imbibed.

You hear the door open. Can smell Dave's shampoo wafting through. "Want some coffee?"

You crack an eyelid. Your head explodes.

"Thought so." You hear over your moan of agony. "Be right back. Don't try to get out of bed."

You manage a weak, "not gonna," before pulling the pillow over your head. You take it all back.

Your whole head is throbbing. Hells, your whole _body_ is one big pulsing ache. Your horns feel like you went a few rounds with the wall and lost. Your eyeballs are going to pop right out of your skull.

"What's today?" You ask when Dave comes back. You smell bitter, scalding coffee and reach for it blindly. A mug is deposited in your hands once you struggle to sit up, along with two pills.

"Saturday," he says. "You c'n stay in bed all day if you need to. Don't worry about it. Have some aspirin."

You down the aspirin. "Can I stay in _this_ bed?"

"'Course. It can be our eighth date."

It's a credit to how shitty you feel, how long it takes you to waggle your eyebrows at him. "Oh really."

He waggles his eyebrows right back. "Really. But you look like microwaved roadkill, and that's putting it gently, so I was thinking more of a Netflix-and-snacks sorta thing. When you're out of danger of projectile vomiting all over me, of course."

"Get your laptop," you tell him, and try to find a way to settle against the pillows that will keep you from spilling your coffee while at the same time angling you away from the overhead light that is currently broiling your gray matter. He's a comforting presence at your side when he crawls back in with you, and by the time a movie is buffering you're already dozing on his shoulder. You miss most of the movie, but he doesn't appear to mind.

**

"So what were you kicking up so much of a fuss about people sucking for last night?"

You're in the middle of an Iron Chef rerun. He's got his arm around you and you've been chewing halfheartedly on a peanut butter sandwich for the past few minutes while being very careful not to get crumbs in his sheets, even though he assured you it was fine if you did because he needed to do laundry anyway.

You vaguely recall where your train of thought had been going and have trouble swallowing the chunk of bread in your mouth. "It was nothing. Just dumb stuff, you know."

"I _don't_ know. Tell me. If you want to. I mean, you wanted to last night, but I guess that phrase never means anything in the long run, so never mind, I guess - "

"No, no, it's just...awkward."

"Awkward how?" He pauses the video. Whoops. He's serious, isn't he?

You flap your hand at him. "Old partner. Don't wanna make things weird."

He hums, nods, and resumes the video. You watch a dessert battle the likes of which you have never seen (you literally haven't seen it, human television is bizarre and mindnumbing. Good for days when the real focus is on something else). He stops the show again. Looks back at you.

"If it's something that's been digging at you enough to make you start babbling about it while drunk, you should tell me."

"Isn't one of the first rules of matespriteship not discussing past concupiscent partners?"

"Yeah, if you're in the sack or whatever and someone puts out and you go, 'gee whillikers but my Ex McExerson had a _much_ bigger shlong,' then, yeah, that's pretty much a mood breaker right there. This is different. Tell me."

You cram the rest of your sandwich in your mouth. Should you tell him?

 _You should_ , you think. _Because you like him and you want this to work out. Putting all your cards on the table will tell you right quick if he's a keeper, right?_

You chew your food very thoroughly. Swallow twice to make sure it's all gone. "It's a pailing thing."

"You said as much. What is it?"

You can't seem to get your chin off your chest. Your fins are probably doing something ridiculous. You wish you had had the presence of mind to cover your head with a blanket. "Nobody...nobody, um, nobody..."

"Nobody...?"

"Hang on a sec, this was easier when I was drunk."

(you're lying, though, because it feels like the most natural thing in the world to open up your mouth and tell him you have weird needs in the bedroom, that you're picky as fuck and have broken off more relationships than you'd care to think about before they had the chance to go anywhere, just because you don't want to broadcast your perversion to the world)

He waits patiently, because he's Dave and that's what he does. You take a moment to compose yourself. Scrub your hands over your face. Breathe in, breathe out.

"I like...submissive stuff. While pailing." You tell him. One of his eyebrows flicks up a bit, but he shrugs.

"Okay? Is that it? You're a sub?"

"A bad one."

His forehead wrinkles (so cute). "...Okay? How?"

"I'm too finicky. I need too much."

"Too much what?"

"No, I just...I'm picky. Way too picky."

He shuts the lid of the laptop. Hucks it off the side of the bed. "Tell me why you think that."

"That's not the point."

He's thinking really hard and fast about something, but you can't stop now to ask what it is or else you'll lose your courage. "Then what is the point?"

"The point is that nobody ever wants to do what I want to do and they just go on fucking like whatever and I don't want us to get halfway to the pail and then you change your mind when you find out that, um..."

"Unless you're into hardcore knifeplay or something, I'm positive I won't dump you because you have a few unusual kinks, dude." He stops, then holds up his hands. "Actually, wait, bad example, if you are into hardcore knifeplay, what I said was pretty douchey. If you are I'm sure we can work something out - "

"No, no, the opposite of that!" You've fisted your hands in the hem of your own shirt. "Just, gods, why can't people be _nice_ about it for once? That's all I want."

There. You said it.

Dave doesn't appear to understand, though. "Nice about what? Kinks?"

" _Pailing,_ gods."

He's still confused. You don't know what he doesn't get. "You want...to have nice sex?"

You're starting to feel genuinely cross now, trying to ignore the dread bubbling up in you. He's gonna be just like the others, isn't he? And you actually thought he might be The One up until now, thought he'd get it...

"I'm a sub but I don't want to be treated like a sub," you say slowly, so he can't claim a misunderstanding later. "That's it."

"How is a sub treated?"

"You _know_. The usual shit. I just, you know what, whatever. I'm gonna make another sandwich."

He snags your arm, pulls you back onto the bed before you can escape. "Nope, you have to tell me. What do you mean?"

"I just - " Your voice catches. Fuck. You should leave before you get too upset. "Just, I like being submissive. I don't have to be, you know, I can do, do 'vanilla' stuff just fine, so if you don't want, um, that's okay."

"I want whatever you want," he says, and that's sweet, that's really sweet, makes the next part of your exposition easier.

"I want...um, to be submissive? But not, not talked to like I'm a normal submissive."

"How do you talk to a normal submissive?"

His voice is a little odd, like he's not asking for him, he's asking for you. Which is odd. But you're on a roll, so you don't think too much about it.

"I guess, um...once in awhile, I'd like someone to not be like. Um. To be like, 'yeah, yeah, you, um, you dirty, um -"

You have to stop. Breathe. Don't look at Dave, you tell yourself. "'You dirty whore, take it all, yeah, yeah, such a fucking slut, eat me out or I'll flog you.' You know. That stuff. Once in awhile. For it to not happen. I'd like that. Yeah. Sorry."

Dave has a funny expression on his face. Like he can't quite believe what he's hearing. You feel numb acceptance settle into your gut. Your fins are plastered back against your ears defensively. You really want that sandwich.

"So, let me get this straight...you think being submissive means being treated...like you just said? Because, what, somebody told you that's how it had to be?"

(what?)

"Do you even know what being a sub means?" You try and twist away from his grip. You're starting to get pissed off - you thought he'd _get_ it. "Get a fucking dictionary." You snap. "That's literally what it is."

"Eridan, that's, that's abuse. If you didn't talk about it beforehand that's abuse."

"No, it isn't, that's what it is. Look it up." You bring up your other hand to try and pry his fingers from you. His grip is made of steel.

He looks upset, like, _really_ upset, which is weird. You're too focused on getting away to really give it much thought, though.

He grabs you by the shoulders and pushes you back against the headboard. "I think _you_ need to look it up. The whole premise of it is to give you what _you_ need. Not...not to threaten to beat you whether you wanted that or not."

You don't say anything. He draws away from you slowly, then throws a leg over yours to keep you there while he pulls up his laptop. He dashes off a quick search, then shows you the screen.

"Look, will you? What you're describing is abuse."

You don't believe what he's saying. That can't be right. Can't be. You were fine, it was all fine, it just...you just, just hated sex sometimes. Which is totally normal, right? You skim the article he's got in front of you. Try not to think about the implications too hard. It's normal to dread pailing sometimes, right? Normal to crawl off and sit in the bathroom by yourself afterwards. Totally fine.

"Eridan - "

"I don't want to talk about it." You snap, and shove the computer away. "Just, that's it, all right? That's what I want. Sorry for making a big deal about it."

"Eridan. Listen to me." He sounds angry, you think he's angry (he has a right to be, you think, with you dumping all this crap on him all of a sudden. He just wanted to watch Netflix), so you're caught by surprise when he takes both your hands in his. "Are you listening?"

"Yeah." You mumble. Probably sound like a sullen child too, whoops.

"If you don't want to talk about past shit that's fine, that's totally fine, but what you _have_ to do is tell me what you want. What you need. For real, this time. No games. Just tell me what you need from me and you've got it."

"It's not really eighth date material," you say, before you can help it. Dave sighs. Squeezes your hands (so warm, so nice. His hands are nice. You like them a lot)

"It's not really how I expected our first time to go, yeah, but that doesn't matter. What do you need?"

"Just - " you lick your lips. "Tell me, tell me if I'm doing a good job? You know? Doesn't have to be all the time, not even every time if you think it kills the mood or whatever, but, once in awhile would be, um, would be nice. And kiss me a lot. Please. And, and, you can tie me up, but if you do I want...I need you to stay with me. Not leave me alone or get off without me, I mean."

Dave is really pale. Kinda looks like he's the one who drank a whole six pack the night before. What did he say? Microwaved roadkill. Yeah. He looks like that.

"Jesus." He says. His grip on your hands is bruising. "Of course. Of course. If you need it, you've got it. Anything."

You tug at your hands. "I mean, doesn't have to be all the time, like I said. Doesn't even have to be very often."

"Stop saying that."

"What? I'm trying to be _considerate,_ you idiot, I'm - "

He hugs you. Both arms are like vices around your ribs. You think you feel a smattering of kisses pressed into your shoulder. Your face gets smashed into his neck and your spine is curving at a weird angle because he's sitting next to you instead of in front of you, but you don't try to push him away. He smells good. You feel like you're floating, just a little.

You want this to work.

It's awhile before he speaks. His hands are rubbing soothing patterns into your back. "How about I make you a deal?"

You pull away enough that your lips won't brush his jugular when you reply. "What sort of deal?"

(you've made deals before and didn't like them, hated them, but Dave doesn't sound like Vriska did when she asked you to make deals with her...)

"Every single time we pail, I do all the things you asked."

"And?"

"And nothing. That's it."

"That's not a deal. A deal has two sides."

"It does have two sides. You get what you need. I get to give you what you need. Win-win."

You can feel his breath stirring your hair. He's being so nice about it, you think. You want to believe what he's saying. You tell him that. His arms squeeze the breath from you.

"I want you to believe me too." He says. Releases you and rubs your arms. "But from now on you have to ask me, all right? For everything you need. Part of the deal."

"...Okay." It can't be that easy.

"And, for now, at least, if you're comfortable, I want you to do the initiating. I don't want - " he swallows. "I don't want you to agree to something just because you feel like you have to. So you have to do all the work for now. Doesn't always have to be that way, just...until I learn your cues. Okay?"

He's making it sound so easy. You want it to be easy. _It's Dave,_ you think. You know Dave. Dave can be that easy for you. If you agree.

You nod. "Okay."

His relaxation is so immediate and all-consuming that you can see his individual muscle groups easing into a resting state one by one. His smile is brilliant and warm. "Okay. Thank you. Thank you, thank you."

You don't know why he's thanking you. You duck your head. "'Welcome."

"Do you want to go back to Netflix now? I can make you that sandwich if you like."

"Can you kiss me instead?"

He dances his fingers up your wrists. You shiver. "You want me to? Is your headache gone?"

"I do. It is."

He cups your face in his hands. "We don't have to go any farther than that, if you don't want."

"I know. I might want to, though. If you do."

"Don't worry about what I want. For now, I want what you want. This is about you."

He's so sweet. You like him, like everything about him. You can't believe you haven't pailed him before this (are kind of glad you didn't, because this, this right here, this feels almost like a new beginning). He's pretty and nice and so kind. You're lucky you got your claws into him before someone else did.

(even if this doesn't work out, if it ends horribly, you'll be fine. He tried and was sweet about it, so it's okay if this moment blows your chances with him)

You lean in. He tilts his head to the side and presses his closed lips to yours. He's very soft. He tastes like peanut butter.

He pulls back. "Is this good?"

You chase after him. Capture his mouth again and lick at his lips, revel in the sigh he gives you. Without breaking contact, he rearranges you so you're laying down on the pillows and blankets and he's stretched out to the side of you with one hand on your belly, grounding you.

You really do like kissing him. You feel safe. He's got you. You can let go.

You slide him your tongue in offering. He licks along its length and fists his hand in your shirt when you let out a tiny groan (feels so good). He makes a noise in return and you shiver - sounds like he's enjoying himself just from this, just from this little thing, did he mean it? Did he mean what he said about wanting what you want?

He pulls away to plant soft, wet kisses underneath your jaw. It feels good to tip your head back, let him have you. A burden is lifted from your shoulders. When you exhale next, you feel so, so much lighter.

(he must notice, because he breathes out just as shakily as you. His kisses get wetter, more frantic. He comes back up to your mouth again and tugs on your upper lip briefly, kisses your nose, then seals his mouth over yours again. His hands are running all over you, making you dizzy with the firm, warm caresses)

He's so nice.

You lose track of time. Know only how many times his heart has beat under your palm while you keep his lips and tongue occupied, know only how many times you sigh and moan for him while he kisses your eyelids, your ears, your jaw, your neck, your collarbones. You want to feel like this forever. And yet...

When you tug at his shirt he stops your hands. Presses them over his heart. "How far do you want to go?"

You feel giddy, practically loopy. Feels like your face is splitting from smiling so much. "As far as I can."

He pulls off his shirt without another word. Waits to tug at yours until you lift your arms up and arch your back so he can slide it off easy. He leans down again and sucks a mark into the hollow of your throat. Says something into your skin that you can't make out, but his tone of voice makes you flush all the way to your ears. Within moments, you're pulling at his jeans, too.

"Off, please."

"Yours too?"

"Mm-hm."

He's wearing underwear with bright red cartoon crocodiles printed all over the fabric. You take a moment to giggle like a small child, throwing your head back. He smiles, snaps at the band of elastic on yours (plain, white, completely ordinary, thank you very much).

"No laughing. They were on sale."

" _Sure_ they were. Bet they're your favorite pair."

He blows a raspberry into your neck. You shriek and flail. "They are, actually."

You stay like that for awhile, just touching, kissing, reveling in the skin to skin contact. When you run your hands over him, you leave a trail of goosebumps in your wake. He mumbles that you're cold, that he likes how you feel. Your skin heats up a little at that but he doesn't seem to mind the change at all.

You pester him to remove his underwear - "it's hideous," you tell him, "take it off immediately!" - and though he laughs into your skin he shakes his head, tells you "yours first." You don't know how to feel about that, so you bury your face in his chest, feel tiny hairs tickle your skin. He hugs you again.

"You still want to continue?"

"I do. You do it?" You reach down without looking and tug at your own underwear. Dave presses his forehead to yours. Gently, slowly, pulls the last remnants of clothing off of you.

You aren't unsheathed yet, but your nook is beginning to moisten and seep pre-material. Dave doesn't touch you, though, just pulls you in for another innocent kiss, like you both aren't tangled like vines. You like it, like how his lips scrape against yours. Makes you feel sleepy-warm.

He startles you a little when he rolls on top of you, but he braces most of his weight on his knees and elbows, so you don't put up too much of a fuss. He plants his chin on your breastbone with a hollow thunk.

"'Kay. This is what's gonna happen. I'm going to continue like we're the most vanilla-est couple this side of the Mason-Dixon line. Right now, I'm 'Sir knows-nothing-about-your-preferences.' _You_ are going to fix that, because you're going to stop me and walk me through precisely what you need, when you need it, and I'm going to give it to you. Want me to tie you up? I'm there. Want me to chew on your neck like Godzilla attacking Tokyo? You got it. Fun times will be had by all. That sound okay?"

"Yes please." You try not to wriggle around under him too much, but he's so warm and completely immovable (arching your back doesn't budge him, doesn't even make his muscles tense with the effort of keeping you down), covering all your vulnerable places so you don't have to.

He leans up to kiss your throat with an audible sucking noise before sitting up. You move without thinking, snagging at his arms and pulling him back down before you come back to yourself and yank your hands away with a high-pitched apology.

He rolls his eyes, rubs soothing circles into your shoulders. "I just said you get whatever you want. If you wanna manhandle me, go right ahead."

"No, I just, I like having you on top of me." Are you blushing? What a dumb thing to blush at, gods. "Your weight. S'nice."

"You callin' me heavy?"

You recognize the joke for what it is and smile. "Absolutely."

He flops down on top of you. "Well okay then. Prepare to be squashed."

"Officially prepared." You splay your hands out against his ribs, tucking your fingers into the dips between the bones. "Touch me?"

His fingers are individual brands over your sheath when he slides down your body. You try not to squeak. Your hands follow him down, hovering uncertainly, hoping maybe he'll figure it out so you won't have to ask (except he wants you to ask, told you specifically to ask, so maybe you should just - ).

He looks back up at you. Quirks an eyebrow. "Hey. Hands above your head."

Your nook contracts. Fluid coats the insides of your thighs. He grins.

"Ohoh."

"Don't laugh."

"Believe me, that is the farthest thing from my mind right now." His voice pitches low, vibrating into your stomach. You try not to squirm under his gaze. "You gettin' wet for me, Eri?"

 _Oh_. "For you."

He plants a kiss on the soft of your belly. "S'what I like to hear, darlin'. Hips up." He shoves a pillow under your butt when you comply. Scooches down your body the rest of the way and tilts his head to rest on your inner thigh. You can feel his breath over your sheath and nook. Feels nice, feels like fingers pinching the nerves lining your vertebrae in quick succession, forcing your back to arch. Your head tips back and you stare at the ceiling, unable to process the heat behind his eyes.

He doesn't do anything after that, though, just looks and looks and looks. You shift around a little. His hands come up to hold your hips in place, and oh, you like that very much if your little noise and resulting increase of pre-material is anything to go by.

He's smiling. Looks a little hungry. "You're so _wet_. I haven't even touched you yet and you're - fuck, that's hot. You're fantastic."

The praise goes straight to your bulge, which swells up and pokes out of you. Just an inch or so, but Dave zeroes in on it. His fingers dig in to the flesh of your thighs. He looks up at you without moving his head.

"Mouth?"

Your hips twitch forward. He grins. You do your best not to blush. "Help yourself."

"I fully intend to. Don't move. Not a hair, understand?"

You do, you do. Your hands feel heavy against the mattress. "Thought you were gonna keep it Mason-Dixon vanilla or whatever."

"Well, I was." He blows a hot stream of air over the squirming tip of your bulge, coaxing it out a few extra inches. You shiver. "But I found somethin' that gets you hot, so I'm gonna roll with that 'till you tell me otherwise. Sound good?"

"Oh, oh, yes. It does."

"Ah, ah. Watch yourself." He gently pushes your hips back down. "I haven't even started and you're already having trouble?"

"I'm sorry." You lock yourself down. He's right, he's right, you lost yourself already -

"No, nope, no apologies. Not allowed. Jus' keep still, yeah? I want to force you to tell me how good you feel through your voice, not your body."

 _Oh_. "Okay."

Which is a dumb thing to say, evident by how he halts his gradual progression towards faceplanting into nook to snicker into your hip. "You better be shouting something other than 'okay' by the time I'm done with you."

You feel like it's okay to break the rules long enough to kick him in the side. He keeps giggling, but pushes your leg back down again and licks a swath from your thigh up to your lowermost rib. You sigh. He brings his mouth back down and hovers _just_ above your bulge.

"I'm gonna suck you off, Eri, and then we're both going to take a nap and watch more Netflix. Not necessarily in that order. That sound good to you?"

You chew on your lip. That sounds just fine, but, "what about you?"

"I get to eat you out. Watch you try and fail to hold still 'cause you can't help it, feeling as good as you do. I get to watch you squirm while I tell you how pretty you look. That's what about me."

Your bulge unsheathes all the way. Your face is hot enough to cook on.

(you don't think you've ever felt this good, ever felt like you were flying before. Certainly not while doing something like this. Is it supposed to feel this way?)

"It is," Dave whispers against your skin. "Of course it is."

When he makes a loose fist around the base of your bulge, your hands fly up to cover your mouth. Fingers clamp down and squeeze your cheeks, your lips, you might give yourself a bruise, you're trying so hard to keep quiet so as not to spoil -

"Hey. Stop that." Dave swats your wrist with his free hand. Tightens his grip with the other. You feel your eyes bug out (so _hot_ , like a dose of sunshine through your veins, so good, so good), feel your teeth scrape against your palms. "Don't do that, don't ever - don't silence yourself."

"I can't help it." Might as well tell him now, don't want to disappoint him down the line.

"That's fine." He sort of...rolls his fingers over your bulge. It feels like a wave crashing through your gut. You squeeze your eyes closed. "That's fine, but I'm going to have to take preventative measures, you know."

"You will?"

He tilts his head to the side like a bird. Listening to your tone of voice? "I will. Just so you can take your mind off of trying to achieve standards you don't have to any more. Got it?"

It takes effort to pull your hands away from your face. Is it because you want him to do it, want him to wrench your unruly limbs under control? Or because you keep remembering _that_ day (that day, that day she told you to not make a sound and you did, you did, you yelped her name when you came and she flipped you over and flogged you right then while you were still struggling to come down)? You don't have the time to figure it out, because soft, warm fabric is being wound around your wrists.

"Tying me with a tie?"

"Doubly tied. Tie squared all up in here." He smacks a kiss on your forehead. "Is that uncomfortable?"

He's got your hands tied to the headboard (goodness, aren't you the picture of stereotypical bondage?). You wriggle around for a moment, tugging and twisting. "No."

"I don't want to catch you chewing on your lips or nothing. You have a noise in here, let it out." He raps his knuckles against your sternum. "Understood?"

"Uh-huh. Kiss me again? Please?" _I'm cold, drape your skin over me so I don't have to be, please, please?_

He insinuates himself between your spread legs easily (effortlessly, like he never left, never will). Leans up, tilts your chin down and slides you his tongue.

Vriska never kissed you. Not very often, anyway, and when she did it was only because you'd whined and whined for the attention. Was always rough, brutal, in a hurry to finish so she could get back to sex with the added bonus of you not leaning up to her every ten seconds. You hated it. Stopped asking after awhile, just because her contempt for it made something shrivel up inside you.

With Dave it isn't like that at all. When he licks along the roof of your mouth, it's like having a conversation with him - he tells you what he's thinking in the way his tongue curls around yours, and you show him your appreciation in vocalized breaths and how hard you push back against his mouth.

When he goes back to squeezing and stroking your bulge, quick little pulses that have your legs trying to skitter over the sheets, he pulls away from the kiss and props himself up on his free arm to watch you. You close your eyes - can't meet his, too intense, you can't handle that right now - and he moves again. Grips the protrusions of bone on your hips firmly and blows another breath across your squirming bulge and leaking nook. You try to disguise your little squeal, fail utterly (makes your muscles draw tight, makes the headboard creak as you put strain on it).

He lets your bulge twine around his fingers, keeps his splayed hand perfectly still so your bulge can wind through his fingers and squeeze, dripping fluid all down his wrist. You hiccup at how the calluses on his skin catch and grate at your bulge in the most delicious, alien way. He wiggles his fingers and you chirp. Leans down, slides his mouth over you in a series of sloppy, open-mouthed kisses that make you yelp and buck your hips up. He throws an arm over your stomach to hold you down, goes, 'mmm?' into your skin. It tingles in the best way, makes your nook clutch down on nothing.

You don't anticipate his other finger running a curious track up, up your thighs to where you're wet and slick until the rough tug-pull of the grooved surface of his skin screeches through your neurons. It feels like sandpaper in the best way possible. You're so busy trying to process the pleasure you get from it (you feel guilty, almost, you're too easy, way too easy, so far gone just from that? You ought to be ashamed of yourself) that you almost miss what he has to say.

"Look at this." He holds up a (stained purple, dripping) finger to the light. "You're so pretty." He pops the finger into his mouth while you watch, flabbergasted (nobody ever - Vriska never - went out of their way to _taste_ you, like that alone was the end goal). He sucks the digit clean and leers up at you. You feel yourself flush to the ears, and look away.

"Nah, don't be like that." He tugs on your bulge a little, just enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand straight up. "Watch me. Don't take your eyes off me."

You're frozen in place, then, forced to watch the slow (so slow) descent of his mouth, can see the microscopic motions his face makes as his tongue extends out to lick a searing, wet path over what parts of your bulge are still wrapped around his fingers.

"That's it," he murmurs. You see the smile in his eyes. "That's it, you're doing great. I can see how good it feels - you've got the most expressive face, it's crazy. You look so good. Do you feel good?"

You have to swallow twice before you can respond. When you open your mouth (tell him _I do, I do_ ), your voice comes out higher than intended. Dave ducks his head and hums ( _purrs_ , almost, like a troll would, like a proper flushmate would) into the base of your bulge, pinning the rest of it to your stomach to give him easy, unrestricted access. The noise sets off something in you (your thinkpan goes _yes, good, he's the one, he's purring for you - for_ you _\- keep him, keep him close_ ) and you whine, high and long, and pull at your restraints. Dave huffs out a breath - startled, you think, maybe eager? You hope it's eager - and licks a line from the base of your nook up, up, up to the very tip of your bulge where it lies trapped against you. You try not to melt into the mattress. So soft, not like anything of this world, not like anything another troll could give you. Your soft alien matesprite.

"I pity you." You choke out. He rewards you by taking the very tip of you into his mouth and suckling, very gently. His teeth are the furthest thing from your mind - soft, so soft, you want to drown in him. "I pity you so much - Dave, I'm, I, I'm going to, Dave - "

"Hmm, already? Got yourself all riled up, huh?" He sucks a little harder, just enough to make you bare your teeth to the ceiling. "Go ahead, if you need to. I wanna see your face."

"But I'm - it's only been - "

"Go on." He hollows his cheeks as he sucks, making pockets of lightening weave in and out of your vertebrae. "Go on. I've got you, it's okay."

"But - ah - "

"It's _okay_. You can let go."

"Dave - "

"I'm right here. Breathe."

"Dave!"

"That's it, that's it." You feel him plant a kiss on the sensitive stretch of skin between the base of your bulge and the top of your nook. Your entire body convulses. "I've got you."

"I'm going to - "

"C'mon, Eri. Lemme see? Wanna see how good you look."

You've never felt like this, never - you've climbed so high it's almost painful, you're out of breath and gasping and whining and it _hurts_ , you've never gotten wound up this far without breaking like a wave on the sand and tumbling down into orgasm. Never, never, you feel like you've already broken, feel like you've already had your release and are being dragged over hot coals, being wrung out like a washrag. You think you're crying. He's being so gentle.

He's petting your thighs in slow, even strokes that match his tongue licking up and down the lips of your nook, trying to calm you even as he winds you up tighter and tighter, whispering little nothings into your skin.

"Dave, I'm going to, Dave, Dave, you have to, you _have_ to - "

He pulls away with a wet smack, making you buck forward and go _please, please_ , _I need you_. He breathes out hard and unsteady.

"I've got you. I've got you, you're almost there. You're doing great." He sucks a bruise into the soft meat of your inner thigh. "Flushed for you, Eri."

"Oh, I - "

He feeds his tongue into your nook (such an odd feeling, you love it, you _love_ it) and sucks down. It feels like a punch to the gut, your spine just about folds in half, and that's it, that's _it_ , you've broken, you've smashed yourself to shards, you've, you've -

He crawls up your body and smoothes your hair from your face while you thrash and whimper. Presses his lips to your forehead, so soft you barely notice them in the midst of your throes. He undoes your restraints as you come down, rubbing your wrists and gathering you close to him. It's awhile before you can speak, little hiccups of pleasure continuing to bounce around your body, so you just tuck your chin into his shoulder and let him rub your back while you regain your breath.

He waits until your body ragdolls in his arms to wipe the tear tracks from your face with the pads of his thumbs. His eyes dart all over your face and you spend a quiet moment just looking at each other before he finally says, "was that okay?"

A hysterical laugh bubbles up in you. You can't quite suppress a smile and duck your head to make up for it. "It was."

He tilts your head back up for a chaste kiss. "I'm glad. Thank you, for, for letting me do that for you."

You don't know how to respond to that, so you reach out and pull the blankets over the both of you, ignoring the prominent purple stain. He leans off the bed and fetches the laptop, moving so you can nestle up against his side as he opens the lid. His hand pets mindlessly at your hair, your neck, your shoulders, your cheek, and you feel your eyes drifting closed as his touch tows you closer to sleep.

"Flushed for you," you hear him say dimly, and the phrase doesn't sound the least bit awkward in his mouth. "I want you to be happy. I hope I can make you happy." A kiss is given to your temple.

"I am," you mumble. "You are."

His little smile makes your gut clench. "I'm glad," he says, "I'm glad."

You drift off, just like that, wrapped up in him, as relaxed and peaceful as could be. _This is going to work,_ is your last thought, before sleep pulls you under.

Your dreams are warm and filled with light.

( _this is going to work_ )

 

**Author's Note:**

> The ratio of emotion porn to porn porn got a little out of whack. Oops.


End file.
